This War of Attrition, this grand Presidential Race Happens Every Four Years, against all good grace This Vile hatred for each other at the top—that in it Has also collaboration for the biggest slice of the pie So we hope for this next 4 years—ONLY too aware That the following 4-to-8 years will be spent beating We, the people, to a pulp again. AND SO we will buy Into this run of banners up flagpoles AND we will poll & we will roll out the welcome wagon & dole out funds To gentlepersons ALL well aware that their nobilities are So deeply sold-out to something malignant that even they Can’t stand the image in the morning mirror nor the sounds Of their bedroom voices…just a wall or two divided from their Progeny; Oh their progeny who have learned more than anyone So Far Too Soon that to be a noble human is to compromise, to Know the pain and the shame of surrender like a rich person.

While We, the fodder, of the United States of America, In the shadows of a less perfect union, relinquish justice, While the powers that be distinguish the dear candle o Domestic Tranquility (for sake of the plutocracies)

O Adored ((..je t'aime..)), You died never knowing the joy o the return o This Republic To we, the people of the United States of America; AND our Youth continue to muddle through the wasteland that thee Covetous make (in their own very disturbing self-image)

peaceQuake